


Kitchen Beat

by StairsWarning



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alcohol and Drug References, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Mark Can't Cook Vol. 500, also changbin because I love him, being the "lame" kid at a party and not drinking! nice, misc. nct members are here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StairsWarning/pseuds/StairsWarning
Summary: But despite everything you know about him, you also know that he’s out of your league. Gorgeous, talented, adorable, hilarious. He talks with you in Bio, but you’re not close outside of class. But it’s enough, enough to even be able to talk with him during class and imagine asking him out.You share a biology class with the cutest boy ever, Mark Lee. When you see him at a party, will he even notice you? (Yes)
Relationships: Mark Lee (NCT)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Kitchen Beat

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to my lovely roommate @jsturkey who loves Mark Lee and I support her very much, so much so that I wrote this fic for her. Happy super late birthday lmao

On syllabus day, you promise yourself that you wouldn’t get too angry at the generalizations in your Bio 100 class. Even though you were definitely going to be a science major, Bio 100 was required. It didn’t matter that you took multiple high level science classes in high school and excelled in them, the university wanted to make sure all it’s students knew what photosynthesis was. Either way, you hold your head up high, and try your best to power through class. You take notes out of boredom, since the professor’s a huge hardass about phones or laptops in class. There was one thing - one person, really - that kept you from skipping it altogether.

The boy sitting next to you, Mark Lee. He introduced himself on the first day, his shy smile sending your heart soaring through the roof.

“Hey, uh, I’m Mark.” He sticks out his hand for a handshake, realizes it’s a little awkward, and withdraws it with a giggle. “Sorry.” 

“I’m (y/n).” You hold your hand out to diffuse his awkwardness. It works, and he gleefully takes your hand in his. It’s calloused, you notice. It’s comfortable. “I’m excited to be sitting next to you!” You cringe a little bit, but recover at the sight of Mark’s eye smile. 

The mood is broken up by the professor clearing his throat, the powerpoint firing up,  _ DR. GILLIS _ taking up half the screen. He takes roll, which is pretty useless and tedious in a college level class.

The minutes tick by so slowly you think the clock might be broken. The only thing keeping you from doodling mindlessly in your notebook is the adorable look of concentration on Mark’s face as he circles due dates, writes test dates into his calendar, and highlights the grading policy. He leans over to you conspiratorially. 

“Are you good with science?” You nod and he visibly relaxes, sigh leaving his (cute) mouth. “Good, cool. We can study together then, right?” He looks hopeful, the soft look in his eyes melting your heart. You nod again. “Sweet!” He turns back to the scattered papers in front of him, smile turning the corners of his mouth up.

When the subject of lab partners comes up, Mark turns to you immediately, brightly nodding when you send him a thumbs up in confirmation. God, how are you going to survive this?

Three weeks into the semester, you already feel like you’re going to die. Not because of your classes, no, but because of how truly  _ genuine _ Mark is as a person. When you’re tasked with memorizing lists of information, Mark is quick to turn it into a song. He keeps telling you he plays guitar, but you don’t think it’s in a braggy way. He just wants to make sure that you haven’t forgotten, as if you would in the first place. Every bit of information you can learn about him you do- his favorite color is blue, he’s a Leo, he loves Christmas, he likes cookies and cream ice cream…

But despite everything you know about him, you also know that he’s out of your league. Gorgeous, talented, adorable, hilarious. He talks with you in Bio, but you’re not close outside of class. But it’s enough, enough to even be able to talk with him during class and imagine asking him out. 

At the end of the week after lab finishes, you wave politely to Mark as you leave class, getting a text from your roommate. Two words show up on your screen, followed up by a bunch of random emojis your roommate probably chose to try to make you laugh.  _ Party tonight? _

You’d like to pretend you had a choice, but they knew you had nothing going on tonight. You had made it a point to get all your discussion board posts, quizzes, and papers due the night before to anticipate a relaxing Friday night at home. If you backed out it’d be fine, but… it definitely wouldn’t be as fun as standing around with a bunch of underage drunks as they died laughing over classic Vine compilation videos. 

So, with the help of your roommate, you choose a cute outfit, nothing too flashy, but not too out of place, putting on a pair of converse and don a mini backpack before walking to the party. It was only a few streets down from campus, so you weren’t too worried about getting too messy-drunk to walk home. 

“Hey,” you ask, the house the party was hosted in clearly marked by people standing in the yard, chatting with red cups in their hands, loud music blasting, “who’s going to be here, anyways?”

“Well I got invited by some music majors, but I think there are a good bit of STEM-y people here too,” Your roommate smiles, “don’t worry! I’ll watch over you.” She puts her fists up in a mock fighting stance, squared up and ready. You smile, shaking your head. 

The music gets louder as you enter, the atmosphere bright and busy. Your roommate quickly leaves your side, shouting a loud, “heeeeeeeeey!!” out towards the DJ at his MacBook, opting to chat with him rather than stick by your side. You think she told you his name a bit ago… Johnny, maybe? Something like that. Besides the tall DJ, the living room is full of students, each in their own friendship cluster yelling over the (admittedly good) loud playlist. 

You walk into the kitchen and grab an unopened beer, popping the top casually and taking a few sips as you walk room to room, seeing if you recognize anyone. And shockingly, you do.

As you step out into the backyard, a bright peal of laughter catches your ear, coming from the bonfire. Mark Lee in all his glory, dressed in neat jeans and a gray hoodie, a jean jacket thrown overtop. He looks like stereotypical ‘boyfriend material,’ all the way down to his worn-out Nikes. You cringe at the thought, but you’re definitely not wrong. The thing that brings you out of your reverie, though, is the absolute mass of cute, kind, pretty girls and guys surrounding him, trying to get his attention. You admire their ability to try to get his attention in the first place, and you mentally salute their efforts before turning to go back inside. Before you can step through the glass sliding doors though, you hear a voice call out to you.

“Hey!! (Y/n)! Over here!!” Oh God. Was he really doing this? You turn, holding back a smile at his eager waves in your direction. “It’s Mark! From Bio!!” You let out your laugh, not able to hold back the fond smile that followed it. You trudge through the grassy lawn, stepping over and around dropped cans and cups on the way. 

“Hey Mark! Can I…” You point at the chairs near him by the fire, and he immediately grabs one and pulls it right next to him. Your heart nearly explodes at his beautiful smile, anxiously sitting down next to him. 

“Hey (y/n) so I wanted your feedback on something now that I have my guitar with me!” He pulls an acoustic guitar out from behind the chair, and you chuckle a bit at how at home he seems with the instrument in his lap. He plays a few chords, looking over at you with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah sure!” You straighten your spine a bit, listening close. He smiles again, starting to play a bouncy melodic line, rapping overtop about the water cycle. You can’t help but break out into laughter, clapping your hands together a few times. 

“Hey, I didn’t even get to evaporation! How are we supposed to memorize this stuff if you aren’t paying super close attention??” Mark’s jokingly serious tone is ruined by the giggles bubbling out of his mouth, playful smile never lingering long from his lips. 

Someone you recognize from your intro to college writing class interrupts your and Mark’s moment, “What biology class are you in again? 100, right? I could help you study if you want!” Her body language is polite and inviting, her smile cute and curled up at the edges. There’s no way he can say no- she’s cute, well-spoken (you’ve proof-read her papers before), and super nice. But somehow, his head shakes anyway.

“Nah, thanks, though! I have (y/n) right here getting me through everything! She doesn’t even get like, mad when I need to run through flashcards again.” He turns to you then, a quick, private smile gracing his lips. You feel special. 

You chat until the bonfire dies down, most of the partygoers either gone home or are completely blackout drunk inside. You’re alone beside the fire, chatting aimlessly but meaningfully. He tells you about Korea when the night seems its most still, the chirping of faraway bugs nothing but background noise as you imagine the bustling cities, stressful schools, beautiful countrysides. He pauses to think a lot, his sentences stuttered with ‘like’ and ‘um,’ but it’s never awkward. He strums on his guitar almost as an afterthought, sighing into the chilly night. 

He jerks up suddenly, guitar lying flat in his lap. Your head jerks over to look at him, eyebrows pulled upwards and mouth falling. “What’s wrong?” You ask. 

“I just realized how cold it is, and you only have like, a windbreaker,” he pauses, looking thoughtful. “Do you want my jean jacket? I’m kinda warm anyway.”

He starts to shed the jacket through your short protests, standing to pull the sides of the jacket around your frame. Before you know it, you’re sighing into the fabric, warmer by the second. You slide your arms into the sleeves, body temperature rising not from the jacket itself, but from knowing it’s _ Mark’s _ jacket you’re wearing. 

There’s a peaceful silence as you both look into the dying fire, your hands dug deep into the pockets of Mark’s jacket, quiet strums of his guitar filling the air. You can still hear a bit of music from inside the house, but it’s not as aggressive as it once was. You check your texts to see a  _ good luck ;-)  _ text from your roommate from a few hours ago, but nothing else. The singular can of beer has long since been empty, sat by your feet while you sip from the water bottle you brought from home. Your anxiety at being near Mark is long gone, the gentle tap of his toe and light humming lulling you into contentedness. 

Your phone rings, jolting against your thigh. You jump a little, answering it. It’s your roommate.  _ “Heyyyy, so I’m not drunk, I’m in the house with some people from my music theory class. Changbin offered to drive me home cause I’m kinda really high, sooo… If you want a ride,”  _ she starts whispering now,  _ “and are ok with me trying my best to flirt-- he’s so cute!!” _ She laughs a bit, going back to yelling.  _ “Get your ass back inside in like, ten minutes. Maybe. Right?” _ She leans away from the mic, distant laughter heard.  _ “Yeah! See you then!” _

You hang up, looking over to Mark with a sad smile. You’ll be sad to see this night end. He stops playing guitar for a minute, smiling at you. “Sorry,” you start, gathering your things, “my roommate’s leaving, and if I don’t go too, she’ll end up standing in the entryway of our apartment for twenty minutes.” You stand, sighing deeply. “It was really, really nice hanging out with you!” You cringe internally at your formal tone, but it’s either that or confessing your undying love.

“Actually, can you hang on for a second?” Mark stands up as well, setting his guitar down and approaching you. He looks nervous for some reason. In the light of the dying fire and the distant back porch lights, you can see the pink tint in his cheeks, his ears bright red. 

“Yeah, what’s up?”  _ Don’t get your hopes up, (y/n), don’t get your hopes up… _ You chant internally, getting your hopes up anyways.

“Do you, um, wanna like, go on a date with me sometime?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, his other hand burying itself in a pants pocket. “Like. I can make us dinner or something, but if you don’t wanna come over to my apartment that’s ok! We can go to a-”

“Mark,” you laugh at the stricken expression on his face, eyes wide open, lips parted, ready to ramble. “I want to go on a date with you. Just… Get me your phone number before I leave, then we can text tomorrow?” 

He nods, and your hands don’t shake at all as you trade phones, entering your numbers into each other’s phones. You type a quick message to your roommate that you’re coming up to the house soon, getting a notification of a little  _ :)  _ from Mark. You smile, waving to him and wishing him a good night as you head inside. 

“(Y/n)! Why the hell do I feel so gross right now. Ughhhh, my eyes are so puffy! Thank God I don’t have work tonight, ugh.” Your roommate complains from the bathroom, your own energy focused into the palm of your hand, awaiting a confirmation text of your and Mark’s date. You’d sent a text an hour ago, around noon, asking for the time and date. Hopefully he responds soon to prove to yourself that it wasn’t all an elaborate ruse that your brain made up for fun. So, while you wait, you watch YouTube videos, study some notes- ok,  _ pretend _ to study your notes, and eat lunch. 

Finally, around 2:30, your phone vibrates.

**_Mark_ **

_ Hey (y/n)! What day works for our date? _

_ If you’re still up for it tho _

_ No pressure! _

What a sweetheart. You respond immediately.

**_(Y/n)_ **

_ Well probably not tonight, but if tomorrow isn’t too soon either? _

_ Is that okay? _

**_Mark_ **

_ Yes!! Totally!  _

_ I’ll send you my address, I’ll make us some killer pasta _

_ Maybe we can watch a movie or something! _

You text back and forth a bit about the details, write down the address and time, and dance around your apartment a bit. “I can’t believe it!! Augh, how does this even happen!!” You belly flop onto your bed, yelling into your pillow. You turn onto your stomach, laughing lightly. “Jackson Wang, maybe I need to go to your parties more often!”

It’s finally here. The big day. You once again enlist your roommates help in picking out a cute outfit, taking time on your eyeliner and choosing the perfect perfume. You also wear Mark’s jean jacket, partially because it’s actually kinda cute, and partially because… well… it’s Mark’s jacket.

The walk over is nerve-wracking, the idea of being alone with Mark again suddenly terrifying. What if you messed up again, and he never wanted to see you? Oh God, there are so many things that could go wrong, but before they can truly get the best of you, you smell something burning from through the front door. You’re at the front steps of the shabby student housing home when the door bursts open, smoke alarm blaring, an intense-looking man fanning the smoke out with an old pizza box. He makes eye contact with you while his arms wave wildly, a charming smile gracing his lips.

“Come on in,” the mystery man says, “Mark’s waiting for you!”

“Oh, ah, okay?” You say, not entirely sure how to respond as you scoot past him. In the living room are three more men, all placing fans near the creaky, old, open windows. You can hear what is probably Mark yelling in the kitchen, so you make your way over.

It. Is. Chaos.

There are, what seems to be, way too many bowls and measuring cups out, little smears of food gunk on the counter. There’s smoke billowing from the oven, and the pot of water on the stove has almost boiled dry. Poor Mark has his head in his hands on the counter, probably trying to handle the epicness of his failure.

You sigh, smiling lovingly at him as you turn to the stove, turning off each burner and the oven, moving the miscellaneous bowls, cutting boards, measuring cups and pots into the sink. Thankfully there are paper towels on the counter, so you wet a few, wiping up the still damp smears of what is probably sauce off the countertop and stove top.

You turn to Mark, who now has his head pressed against the counter, groaning softly. “You didn’t have to clean up for me, Yu-” he looks up, suddenly realizing it’s not one of his roommates in the kitchen with him. “Oh my God, (y/n), I’m-I’m so sorry you had to see this,” he stands back up, anxiously brushing his hands off against his jeans, a cute smear of flour dashed across his forehead. Embarrassment rolls off of him in waves, and you absolutely hate it.

“Mark, it’s fine! It’s not even the worst mess I’ve seen before, and trust me,” you raise an eyebrow playfully, “I’m not that great of a cook either.” You smile at him kindly, glad to see some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“So, uh, what now?” He looks around the messy kitchen, not very impressed. “Do you want to leave? I wouldn’t blame you.” 

“Mark, I loved the idea of you making me a nice dinner, but,” you shrug, “it’s also pretty romantic to make dinner together.”

He lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really? What do you wanna make? I mean, we don’t have that much stuff here anyways.”

“I’ll figure it out, just show me what you have!”

You dig through the cabinets a bit, shocked but excited to see non-expired pancake mix, non-expired milk,  _ and _ non-expired eggs all in the same male-filled house. You organize the ingredients all lined up, clean up a bowl, measuring cup and small pan, and get mixing. 

You set Mark up with stirring everything together while you butter the pan, making sure it’s the right temperature. 

“Do you think we could add some chocolate chips to this?” Mark says, digging through a cabinet.

“Hell yeah, throw ‘em in!” You both laugh at your exaggerated tone, the embarrassment and sadness from earlier long gone.

You get five perfect pancakes, and one baby pancake, which Mark chucks into the living room at one of his friends for, in his words,  _ ‘spying on my perfect date.’ _

You both take your pancakes to the scuffed dining room table, eating in relative peace, bumping shoulders occasionally. The house still kinda smells like smoke, but the pancakes have mostly overpowered it, thank God. 

You finish your pancakes, dumping the plates into the sink without a second thought. Before you realize, Mark is in front of you, hands resting delicately on your hips. “If you want me to move, please tell me. I don’t wanna misread this,” his eyes are genuine, eyebrows furrowed together delicately, mouth in an adorable pout. You can’t help but grin.

“I’d literally love to stay here, actually,” you say, wanting to lean into him, but too afraid to do so. 

“Oh, okay, dope,” he nods, face relaxing, moving closer to your own. You can’t help but tilt your head up, so, so, so hopeful. 

His lips press against yours pleasantly, and your hands rest against his chest as you press upwards into him, your grin separating your lips. He presses his forehead against yours, a breathy laugh brushing against your lips.

“So, like, do you, uh, wanna be my girlfriend?” His eyes find your own, and you melt, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart.

“Yeah, yeah I’d really love that.” 

His bright smile sparks something deep inside you, knowing that you’ll never want to give him up. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote myself into this as the roommate, who is attracted to Changbin, enjoys getting high more than getting drunk, and is a lovely transitional device. Yay me! 
> 
> Come chat with me on twitter @breadcru or on tumblr @stairswarning <3


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